Sunday, July 15, 2007
Trina had a hard time framing this picture from across the street. A narrow para gully. Four people standing in a row. She is a greenhorn. Point taken. Still. It's hard.
The bags were packed. The steel flute with its tidy little case. The voice. The smile. The glitter in the eye. All packed up. No Gladstones.
Time is a reckless, rude bike-guy. With long hair. Earrings. Sunglasses. I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude. I will ride over you;what do you know, sonny!
Next year framing pictures will be easier. The year after, only yellow ocher.
You will be missed. All the Best.
Someday, we will stand there together. Like we did. Like we thought we would. Always.